


All Souls Are Made of Dust

by CompletelyDifferent



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, Flavor Text Narrator Chara, Gen, Genderless Chara, Genderless Frisk, Genderqueer Character, Pacifist Route, References to Child Abuse, References to Transphobia, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, daemon AU, humans have daemons but monsters don't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyDifferent/pseuds/CompletelyDifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monster bodies are made of dust. When they die, they dissolve.</p>
<p>Human bodies are made of meat. When they die, they decay.</p>
<p>But all SOULs- even if they look different- are made of Dust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Falls

**Author's Note:**

> First off: Trigger warning for death, suicide and self-harm. We're dealing with Chara (and, to a somewhat lesser extent, Frisk), so. 
> 
> Secondly: This is a daemon AU. Don't know what a daemon AU is? That's fine. Here's the low-down.
> 
> Daemons are a concept which come from the 'His Dark Materials' series, written by Phillip Pullman. In it, all humans have a daemon- a manifestation of their soul in animal form. As a child, a human's daemon is unsettled, and can take on any shape it chooses. Eventually, when that person becomes older, it will take on a single form that represents the person's personality. Every daemon (every soul), is made of Dust, the fundamental particle of thought and creativity.

This is a story about two human children, and their daemons. 

The two children were very alike in many ways.

Both had been hurt, and both ran away, hoping to end that hurt. 

Both climbed to the top of a mysterious mountain, and when they tripped, did little to stop themselves falling down a deep hole.

Both entered an underground filled with monsters, and did everything in their power to escape.

Both their daemons were unsettled when they fell, and settled by the time they finally left.  

Besides all that, however, they do not have much in common at all. 

 

~~~

 

Chara plummets, feeling the wind against their face, cool and fast. It's a rush like they've never felt before. Besides them, their daemon is an eagle, golden wings spread wide, diving straight down.  

The ground is approaching, coming fast. The daemon does not pull out of their dive, or make any move to protect their human.

_Good_ , Chara thinks.

They hit the ground together. 

There is pain.  

~~~

 

Frisk plummets, feeling the wind whip in their hair, cold and sharp, and they feel a surprising amount of terror. Their daemon is in their arms, warm and soft as a rabbit, pressed against their heart. 

The ground is approaching rapidly. The daemon does not spring from their human’s arms, make any attempt to turn into a bird and slow their fall.

They hit the ground together, but their blow is cushioned.

There is less pain than expected.

~~~

 

In the ruins, two voices cry out- one human, one daemon, both in pain.

Chara’s head hurts, and their leg feels broken, and something’s bleeding, and _their head hurts_. The pain was supposed to stop, and they just made it worst. They can't get anything right. Their daemon is at their side now, a wailing black cat, giving what comfort they can.

Together, they call for help, and they hate themselves for it. 

Someone hears them.

There's a sound of padding feet against the earth, and a soft voice says, “Hello? Are you okay?”

Chara’s in too much pain to twist their head, but their daemon scrambles to look. They hiss in surprise and shock at what they see.

It looks like a goat. Not a real goat, though, the kind you would get in some stupid kid book, that stands on two legs and wears clothes, and has large, adorable eyes. The goat has no daemon at all. And he says, “Let me help you!”

~~~

In the ruins, two bodies hit a soft bed of flowers, and although the air is knocked out of the human’s lungs, neither cries out.

Frisk lays there for a while, staring up at the sliver of sky they can see above, until they feel a wet nose pressed against their face. Their daemon is now a fox, urging them to their feet. They wince a little at the bruises as they stand, but it's not so bad. They've had worst. 

They look around the cavern; their daemon turns into a bat, and sends out a burst of echolocation. Aside from the patch of grass and golden flowers, there is nothing here but rocky walls. They can’t stay. Daemon perched on their shoulder as a bat, they set off through the only exit.

In the room beyond, they find another flower. Just one. It is golden, too, but it is not like the others. It has a smiling face, and it speaks, though there is no daemon at its side. And it says, “Howdy! You’re new to the Underground, aren’t ya?”


	2. The Adjustments

Chara is so confused.

Part of that is because of the pain. It makes them bleary, disoriented. They’re vaguely aware of their daemon hissing at the strange goat-person, but it’s just a show. A front. The cat stops once Chara manages to climb to their feet, and when they allow the goat to come in, offer a shoulder, carry their weight. After that, things become a little less clear. They remember stumbling through strange crumbling ruins, over uneven ground which is agony on their leg. They manage to make it— make it _somewhere_ , before they can’t go on anymore.

They bob in and out of consciousness. They’re left with vague impressions of strange faces, and smells and voices. They distantly remember their daemon hissing, "Stay away!"

But Chara is in so much pain, so eventually their daemon relents. They transform into a rattlesnake and curl around their human’s neck, like a cold, scaly necklace. 

Soft paws against skin. Something warm flowing through them… the pain, the hurt, draining away. Just like that.

(Most of the pain, anyway).

They come back into themselves, after that, but they’re still confused. They don’t understand. They don’t understand why these monsters have helped them. _Healed_ them. Put them into a soft bed. They’re **monsters**. They’re huge, with horns and claws and sharp teeth, and they _don’t have daemons_.

But then again, when has anyone with a daemon ever helped them before?

People- humans- always wear smiling faces and say things like “ _Don’t cry_ ,” “ _Everything’s going to be fine_ ,” and “ _We’re doing this for your own good!_ ”. But their daemons tell a different story.While they humans smile, their daemons have whipping tails, unsheathed claws, bared teeth. 

But then, maybe these goat monsters are just more of the same. Maybe the only difference is that with them, Chara can’t see the true shape of their souls.

 

~

Frisk doesn’t feel particularly confused. They fell into a hole, and now they are at the bottom of it. That seems self-explanatory. The smiling flower is strange, admittedly-

— but not as strange as having their soul literally pulled from their body.

_Both_ parts of their soul.

The two pieces flow together, fuse, until the boundaries between human and daemon are lost. They take on a new shape; red, vibrant, beating. A heart.

The view is strange in this form. It is as though they are floating, looking down at the world from above. Colours are muted. The can see the cave, and their unoccupied human body. It is still standing where they left it, but with its eyes closed and no daemon by its side, it looks like a corpse. They wonder if they are dead.

They can still see the smiling flower, though all the colour has drained from it now. It is white, floating in a void of black that is somehow super imposed upon the normal world they have drifted away from. “This is your SOUL,” it tells them. “The very culmination of your being.”

Frisk-and-their-daemon consider this. Consider themselves.Or themself, singular.

It should be scary, they think, to have been pulled out of their body. It should feel wrong. But it doesn’t feel wrong at all. It feels right. They feel focused. Centred. _Complete_.

They feel a surge of gratitude towards Flowey, for letting them experience this. And for teaching them about the Underground, and LOVE, and Friendliness Pellets—

— The flower winks at them, and suddenly, some part of them— it’s unclear which— is sharp and alert. _Something’s wrong_ , they think. Survival instinct surges through them.

Their SOUL has just enough time to dodge most of the bullets. One hits them, directly in the heart. It feels like a branding iron, straight to the soul, more painful than any physical injury. If they had bodies, they would have screamed.

“You IDIOT,” the demon flower says, and Frisk-and-their-daemon is cursing their own trustfulness. They shiver as they’re surrounded by floating seeds, slowly encircled, and they can’t run, no way to escape, and it’s going to _hurt_ —

Warmth and comfort flows through them. A fire blast hits the flower dead in the face; it looks startled, then runs off. A goat-woman is smiling at them. Her face is open, honest. “What a terrible creature, torturing a poor, innocent youth.”

Frisk stares at the goat as they fall back into their body, their daemon curled around their neck as a chinchilla. They can feel their physical heart beating wildly in their chest. Should they trust this creature? They want to, but— 

“ _We don’t have much of a choice”_ , the daemon whispers in Frisk’s ear.

Frisk balls their fists, and follows Toriel. 

~

Weeks past, and the monster family does not turn on Chara.

The mother casts spells of healing magic, which mends their bones and scratches, dulls the pain. She brings soup and pie, food tastier and richer than anything Chara can ever remember. Chara vomits their first meal up, then learns to take it slower, letting the rich food settle into their stomach.

The father brings hot tea, filled with sugar and honey. He gives a sweater, striped just like Chara’s old one, but new and clean and fitting properly. It is very warm, and very soft, but not as warm and soft as the goats’ fur.

The boy sits by Chara’s side, asking how they are, is there anything they need, are they bored? When Chara doesn’t answer, he chatters about all kinds of things, and reads aloud from storybooks, and shows scribbly pictures he’s been drawing in crayon. 

Chara figures that maybe they should be grateful to the (literal) kid. He helped them, saved them, after all. But he’s annoying. Chara wishes he’d leave them alone like every other child on the surface did.

Chara tries to ignore him. It doesn’t do much. The kid is unrelenting in his sappy cheeriness. Sometimes, they get so frustrated, that their daemon lashes out. Not touching, of course- _never touching_ \- but turning into something scary and intimidating, like a frilled lizard or a scorpion, screeching and posturing, warning them away. The kid jumps, or scrambles to the other side of the bedroom. It’s only when Chara yells at them, demanding that they leave, that they do.

…but the always come back, sooner or later, with that same watery smile.

 

Slowly, Chara stops resisting. They don’t flinch from the mother’s magic. They mutter thank you when the father brings supper. They don’t frown as much at the kid’s stories.

Chara stops thinking of them as the mother, the father, and the kid, but by the names they told them. Toriel. Asgore. Asriel.

They never once ask for Chara’s name, or their daemon’s. Chara offers neither.

~

The Ruins, Toriel explains, are filled with strange puzzles, hybrids between diversions and door keys.

Frisk likes puzzles. They’ve done a lot of them. It was something quiet and unobtrusive they could do— tuck themselves in the corner of a house or library or classroom, trying to piece a picture together, or fumbling with a Rubik's cube, or chewing on the end of a pencil while staring at a crossword. The puzzles here are a lot easier, and Toriel solves all the ones that seem like they might even be halfway tricky. 

That should be annoying— but somehow, it’s not. Frisk has never had someone who’s helped them on puzzles like that before. Or congratulated them for doing something as simple as flipping a switch or talking to dummy. Or beamed so brightly at their daemon, as they zoom through the air, shaped like a ladybug.

Nobody’s ever called them, “ _My child_.”

Eventually, Toriel leads them to a long hallway. She asks them to trust her, and to cross the corridor all by themselves. Then she runs off, with impressive speed, giving them no time to catch up.

It’s… not a very hard challenge. Frisk saw Toriel hide behind a column. Frisk hasn’t been abandoned, not this time.

Then again— maybe there’s more to the hallway than meets the eye? Maybe some puzzle, harder than the others, invisible? What if that scary flower comes back?

_“_ We can do it _,”_ their daemon whispers, still shaped like a ladybug. Frisk stands straighter, filled with determination. Whatever challenge awaits them, they can take it. They’re never alone, after all. They have their daemon.

Their daemon, and someone else. That not-quite-a-voice that’s been whispering to them, ever since they first met Toriel. A ghost saying, _Come on already_. 


	3. Walking

Chara begins to recover.

They start walking again. At first, their daemon turns into a pony, so that they can lean against them for support as they stagger from one side of the bedroom to the next. As they become a bit more steady, Asriel helps instead, while the daemon watches from atop the shelf or toy chest, ready to sweep in at any moment. Eventually, Chara’s capable of walking all around the room, ten times, without wincing once.

Now they sit on the bed, their fingers curling around the covers, knuckles white. They feel like there’s something lodged in their throat. Their daemon is sitting across from them, shaped like a baboon, glaring.

They haven’t left the bedroom once, since they were first brought here. And now, they’re afraid to leave. Even after everything, even after climbing Mt. Ebott, and they’re afraid.

“Come on already,” the daemon hisses. Chara bites their lip, and nods. They stand. Their daemon transforms into a black cat and jumps to the floor, winding around their legs. Together, they reach the door. Chara opens it, steps outside.

They find themselves in a yellow hallway. There is a carpet on the floor.There are vases filled with a variety of flowers. The air is filled with the warm, garlicky smell of what Chara has come to recognise as the scent of cooking snail. It is not wholly unpleasant.

Asriel is at the other end of the hallway, rummaging through a drawer for pencils and papers. He notices them almost immediately. His face breaks into a wide smile, little incisors poking out. He insists on showing them around the house, and there’s nothing Chara can do to resist being swept up in his wave of enthusiasm. 

There’s not a lot to see. There's his parents room, dark blue, king-sized bed, with a writing desk, cabinet, and a shiny trophy in the corner. There’s another room, dark green, a study, or something like it. 

Out in the hallway, again, there's a mirror. Chara stares into it. Looks at themself for the first time in week. There's still some faint bruising on their face, purple grey around the eye. Their hair is messy, unbrushed. Skin pale, even for them. They try to smile. As always, it looks wrong. It does not fit their face.

Asriel tugs them along.

There's a stairwell leading downwards. Their daemon is already beginning to investigate, but Asriel steers them away, saying that there’s nothing down there but a long boring hallway. The cat comes back, though Chara can feel their reluctance, their curiosity, their suspicion. They will explore later.

Then there’s the living room. 

It’s warm and cozy, with armchairs and a bookshelf and a fireplace— an actual fire place! Chara lingers at the doorway, eyes wide. Then Asriel says, “Mom, Dad, look!”, and next thing they know, Chara is being ushered in, Asgore beaming, Toriel fretting (“Oh dear, are you sure you don’t feel dizzy at all?”), and Asriel is helping him sit down by the comfortably warm fire, and their daemon has disappeared into their shirt as a gecko, filled with uncharacteristic shyness.

It’s almost dinner. The monster family sets another place at the the table, and brings another chair in for Chara to sit at. 

“Its name is Chairiel,” Toriel says, with a wink. Asriel groans, but a small grin flashes on Chara’s face. They sit down at the chair. Food is served, hot and delicious. Chara eats it silently, watching and listening to the others as they chat happily about things and places they don’t quite understand yet, but it’s all so jolly and sweet that it feels like something from some cheesy old sitcom, the kind they thought could never be real.

~

Frisk walks all the down the long corridor, and nothing happens. There are no puzzles, no spikes, not even a single Froggit to ribbit at them. Frisk makes it to the other end without once having their soul pulled out of them. Toriel is proud of them regardless. 

She has to go, she says. She has something she must do. It is dangerous ahead, so they must wait for her. She promises to come back. She gives them a phone. 

Then she leaves.

Frisk sits down on the dusty path, their daemon turning into a huge cow for them to sit against. Their body, with its many aches accumulated before and after the fall, is glad for the chance to rest. Frisk adjusts the bandage on their arm a little more securely.

They turn the phone over in their hand. It’s really old, they can tell. Nothing like the sleek, shiny smart-phones with their touch screens. 

It feels like a treasure, nonetheless. Frisk has never had a phone before, even one as old fashioned as this. It fits perfectly in their hand. And besides, there’s something sturdy about it. It’s built like a brick. It seems as if nothing could break it.

They stare at it a long time. 

The not-quite-a-voice says, _This is boring_.

Frisk doesn’t exactly disagree. But it hasn’t even been five minutes. They can keep waiting.

But then… they’ve thought that before, haven’t they? Mother had said, “Just going to the store,” and then never come back. And then, Father had taken them on a trip to the mountain, and said, “Just wait here,” and Frisk had waited and waited and waited, until they couldn’t wait any longer.

This time, though, they have a phone. Their fingers press call, almost without meaning to.

There’s a ringing. _Ring, ring, ring_.

“Hello?” says Toriel’s voice.

Frisk freezes. They feel stupid.Why did they even bother? They can’t speak. Toriel’s going to think they’re so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“This is Toriel. You just wanted to say ‘Hello’…?” asks Toriel through the phone, cheerful as ever. “Well, then, ‘Hello!’ I hope that suffices.” She laughs. “Call again if you need anything!”

The phone clicks. Frisk manages to breathe again. Their daemon nuzzles them with a big, warm, cow nose. The not-quite-a-voice gives an exasperated sigh.

_Satisfied?_ the voice asks. _Come on. You’re not actually going to wait here, are you?_

Frisk is tempted to do just that, if only to annoy the ghost-voice. But that wouldn’t be very nice. The voice can be kind of annoying, but it’s helpful, too. And they’re right. This is boring.

Their daemon climbs to their hooves with a big cow groan; Frisk follows suit in silence. They walk towards the door. They imagine the disembodied voice trailing behind them, invisible. They peer through the archway into he room beyond. It doesn’t look particularly or dangerous. There’s a single Froggit crouched quietly in a corner, and beyond him, a neat pile of red leaves. Against the grey, washed out colours of the Ruins, they’re a splash of colour. They remind Frisk of autumn They want to go jump on them, feel the satisfying crinkle and crush beneath their feet.

Filled with sudden determination, they carry on. 

~

Chara slips into a routine with the Dreemurr family. 

They share a room with Asriel, though they get a second bed— Asriel had slept with his parents while Chara was recovering, and they feel pretty shitty about having kicked him out of it, even though everyone says it was fine. Nonetheless, Chara does their best to be a good guest. To pay for their keep. 

They keep the room spotless, always cleaning after themselves, making the bed promptly. They help make meals and clean dishes. Toriel is impressed by their cooking skills, especially how deft they are with a knife. If their daemon turns into a monkey, with quick little fingers, they can more than double the speed of chores. Chara does what they can to help Asriel with their homework, which isn’t a lot. Chara had stopped caring about school a long time ago. Asgore says that one day, they might be able to attend lessons with Asriel, if they would like. Chara’s wary about the prospect, but thinks that they might like to try, at least. If they do end up sticking around long enough.

They shrug in response. Asgore tells them to think about it, and that it will be a while before such things can be arranged, anyway.

Chara doesn’t leave the house. They’re told that it might be a bad idea. That a lot of monsters might not take kindly to seeing a human. 

Their daemon paces restlessly through the small house, but Chara doesn’t really mind. They’ve been feeling a lot better, but their leg still aches, they still get tired easily. They’re not in any condition to be facing any angry monsters.

Asriel is a lot less nervous of them, and of their daemon, now. Chara’s lash outs have become rarer, less severe, and Asriel has learned to brush them off. (Mostly. He still can get kind of mopey at times). If their daemon hisses or scratches at the air, they’re a lot less affected. Less scared. They barely flinch. Chara finds out why.

“At first I thought you were a wild animal that fell down too. When you spoke, I thought you might be some new kind of monster,” Asriel says, directly to their daemon, which is weirdly forward. Humans would never do something like that. “When I first saw you, that is. But Mom and Dad told me that you’re… you’re actually just the human, in a second a body. The same person, so I don't need to be afraid. Is that true?”

“I… guess?” their daemon says, taken by surprise. They turn into a coyote, flattening their ears against their skull. “But not really.”

“In school they said that daemons are our souls,” says Chara, watching from the bed. “That it’s because of them that we’re so smart. That anything without a daemon has no soul, and is just a stupid animal.”

“What?!” bleats Asriel. “That’s ridiculous!”

Eyes dark, Chara looks at him, daemonless and whole, and says,“I know.”

There’s a silence. Asriel fiddles with the edges of his sweater. Chara stares down at the bed’s duvet, lost in thought. They don’t even notice their own daemon stand up, and creep closer to the goat boy, until they say, “Asriel?”

“Hmm?” Asriel asks.

“My name,” the daemon says, “is Ter.”

Something like an electric charge runs through Chara. They gape. Their daemon hasn’t given their name to anybody in _years_! They barely ever speak at all! And now they’ve just gone and- and- and _told_ Asriel! They can barely believe it!

Asriel hardly seems to realize the significance. He’s just smiling warmly. 

The daemon looks at Chara and gives a little canine shrug.

Chara scowls at them, but then sighs. They says, “Guess I gotta tell you mine, then. It’s Chara.”

Asriel’s smile is even brighter, now. “Chara and Ter, huh? Those are nice names.”

And then he continues colouring, and that’s that.

~ 

Frisk barely makes it a foot out through the door, before their phone rings.

“Hello? This is Toriel.” She says it like there’s a chance it could be anyone else, like Frisk could somehow fail to recognise the warm, soft burr of her voice. “You have not left the room, have you?”

The not-quite-a-voice groans. Frisk wonders if the woman is psychic. 

“There are a few puzzles ahead I’ve yet to explain. It would be dangerous to solve them yourself. Be good, alright?”

_The puzzles here are nothing I can’t handle,_ the voice boasts once the call ends with a click. Frisk doesn’t quite have its bravado, but quietly, they agree. So, they progress.

They talk to a nervous Froggit. They poke their head into an alcove, and find a bowl of candy. They slip one into their pocket, and are sorely, sorely tempted to grab more. But the sign says ‘take one’. They don’t want to be greedy. They head back into the main hallways, and decide to go jump on another pile of red leaves. No sooner do they do so, than a wild-eyed, fluttering monster emerges. Again, Frisk and their daemon are pulled from the physical plain, their SOUL coalescing into a red as heart as the leaves they’ve left behind. 

The voice identifies the voice as a Whimsun. 

_What are you gonna do?_ asks the voice. _FIGHT? ACT? Look at your ITEMS?_ And then, belatedly, as if remembering what the Froggit had asked them just moments before, _MERCY?_

The human is too startled to do anything.

_CHECK then,_ says the voice. And then it recites: _Whimsun. HP 10. AT 5. DF 0._ Then, in a more casual tone, _This enemy is too sensitive to fight_. 

Frisk-and-daemon don’t know what any of that means. Or, the numbers and acronyms, at least. They think the voice is right about the monster being too sensitive. Its wings are tiny, flickering, fragile things, and it looks as though it could burst into tears at any moment.

_Terrorise?_ suggests the voice. It’s not as terrible a suggestion as it sound. If they flapped their arms or something, they could probably scare the thing away.

But Frisk doesn’t think that would be very nice. The monster _already_ looks terrified. Maybe the Whimsun just needs some encouragement.

They try to think of something nice to say. Anything, even just a ‘ _There, there_ ’. It’s not difficult to think of a sweet little platitude.

What they’re concerned about it how they’re going to be able to speak. They’re just a heart, a soul floating, separate from their body. Even if they weren’t, they struggle to speak, even at the best of times.

It turns out not to be an issue. As soon as they have settled on a thought- (" _Don't be afraid_ ")- it seems to project from their very SOUL. Words, without sound, without speaking. 

Nonetheless, they get barely a word out before the Whimsun flees in terror.

_YOU WON!_ cheers the voice, sardonically. Frisk drops back into their body, their daemon a dragonfly at their side. They don’t feel much like a winner. Which maybe is the point.

They move on through the Ruins. They solve puzzles, some easy, some tricky. They are drawn into fights with monster after monster. The voice keeps a running commentary the whole time.

They get better at battling. Or, more accurately, dodging, and finding ways to get monsters’ to leave peacefully. Compliments, nice words, dances. They discover, that even in the strange other dimension, they still have some control of their human body. It feels strange and distant, senses muted, but it’s still there. They can make it do things, like they’re controlling a puppet, or a character in a video game. Soon, they find they can move it with ease— walk, wave hands, even wiggle their hips. That becomes handy with the moldsmals. Dancing with them is fun.

_What a scintillating conversation_ , the voice says drily, each time they do so.

Frisk isn’t sure if they like the voice. It can be annoying and rude. Every single time they enter a fight, it suggests that they FIGHT, even though Frisk hasn’t done so once, even though they know there’s a nicer way to resolve the problem. And then, they’ll still make other prompts— _Pick on_? _Terrorise_?

Frisk gives into that suggestion, one time, after _yet another_ Whimsun floats into their path. They’ve been walking for ages, and maybe it’ll get the voice to be quiet for a while. The Whimsun looks even more horrified than usual, and in its haste, it leaves gold behind.

_Real_ gold, apparently. Money. It sits heavy in their pockets. Frisk feels bad about taking it, but as their daemon points, out, they might need it. Their daemon points out lots of things like that, whispering quietly in their ear. The voice is annoying, but it knows things. Tells them stuff. Gives advice. It can’t be all bad, even if it is kind of mean. 

Frisk wonders if they’re just imagining the voice. That maybe it’s just another thing wrong about them. That they really are crazy. 

Another puzzle. Another fight. Two monsters, this time. The heart dodges, dodges, dodges— gets hit. Pain. Their soul shudders. _HP 12_.

_You could fight!_ urges the voice.

Frisk thinks of Toriel. Toriel, who took them by the hand. Who told them to be good. They think of that Froggit, the one by the candy bowl. “Please, human. Use some MERCY.”

And once again, they do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we finally learn the name of Chara's daemon, at least. Thank goodness. It's really hard to keep things clear when you have so many people (or beings) using 'they/them' pronouns.


	4. Mom

Toriel and Asgore are really busy.

As Chara gets better and better, and they’re less and less nervous of leaving them alone, they leave for longer stretches of time. When they’re not out, they still might spend hours in the study, doing paperwork. This seems reasonable— adult humans all have to work, so adult monsters must do too. The monsters never call what they do a ‘job’ or ‘work’, though. They simply say that they have ‘duties to attend to’, without giving further elaboration. Whatever they’re doing, it can’t be something like working at a 7-11 or cleaning bathrooms. Whatever their jobs are, they must be important.

It still takes a while to discover _how_ important they are, though.

Chara knows that other monsters come over to the house. Not all that often, and always when Chara is otherwise occupied, so nobody accidentally crosses paths with them.Chara pretends not to notice and tries to play along.

They wake up one night. It’s late, but they’re not sure how late— day and night are just concepts in the Underground, with no sun or moon. Asriel is sound asleep in the second bed, though. Ter is tossing and turning, shifting from shape to shape. Chara hisses at them to stop. They don’t want to wake Asriel up.

They try to get back to sleep. They can’t.

They’re hungry.

They’ve been hungrier before. A lot hungrier. They can take this. 

But they can’t sleep.

There’s a lot of food in the kitchen. A lot. Toriel’s always urging them to eat more— Asgore and Asriel, too, actually. Nobody will mind if they go get a snack. And it’s not like they’ll take anything big, like a whole slice of pie. Just an apple, or something.

They slide out of bed. Bare human feet and cat paws are equally light on the floor. They ease the door open, silent. It doesn’t matter if they get caught, they tell themselves. They just don’t want to wake anyone up.

There’s light in the living room. Soft voices, too. Toriel and Asgore are still awake. Maybe it’s not as late as they thought. They should go back to the bedroom and try to go to sleep once more.

Or they could just ask for some food. The Dreemurs are nice. They’d probably give them some. 

Maybe.

Chara doesn’t move in either direction.

And then, they notice. It’s not just Asgore and Toriel speaking; there’s a third voice, too. Low and raspy. Chara doesn’t recognise it. It sounds angry.

Curiosity wins out. They creep forward.

“…understand your concerns,” Asgore is saying.

“No, clearly you don’t,” says the stranger. “You can dismiss me like this! You can’t dismiss your people!”

They’re pressed right against the wall, right next to the open door to the living room. They desperately want to look inside, but then they’d immediately be seen. Ter changes from a cat into a fly. His buzzing wings sound very loud to Chara, but probably won’t be heard over the crackling of the fireplace. Chara lets them go. They take off, and fly into the living room, staying close to the wall where they’re less likely to be noticed.

Chara feels a surge of emotion through their bond. Surprise, amazement, fear. What’s their daemon seeing?

“We’re not dismissing anything,” says Toriel. “Like my husband said, we understand everyone’s concerns. But we cannot let our emotions get the better of us, and make rash decisions.”

There’s a sneer in the stranger’s voice. “As if you haven’t made a rash decision _already_?”

An exhalation of breath. Chara can’t tell who’s, but maybe it’s Toriel’s, because a moment later she speaks, low and dangerous. “What are you suggesting?”

“That you’re emotionally compromised,” says the stranger. “That you’re being soft for your son. There can be no other reason that you would take pity on a _human_.”

Human. They’re talking about **them**. 

“They're a _child_ ,” says Asgore.

“It’s a child right now,” argues the voice. “But it will grow into a killer.”

“You don’t know that,” says Asgore. “You don’t know _them_.”

“Yeah. Well, here’s what I do know. I know that you should have killed them the moment they fell down.”

Chara jerks backwards violently. They must make some noise, because the stranger says, “What was that?”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. A moment later, it is broken by the click of nails on wood and the padding of feet. Chara hears Ter’s frantic buzzing as they fly back towards them, and struggles to climb to their feet. They’re not fast enough. Asgore finds them before they’re even partway down the hall. 

“Chara,” he says, voice heavy.

Chara turns, and gapes

They’ve always thought that Asgore looks mighty, being so tall, with huge fangs and mighty horns, and his strange, formal clothes. Now they know why. On his head, he wears a crown. An actual golden crown.

Toriel joins them a moment later. She is wearing a crown, too. A little smaller, but just as regal. Her face is pained. “You should not have heard that, young one.”

“No. It definitely should of.” The owner of the third voice steps out, and now that Chara sees them, they can understand the shock their daemon felt. They had understood that the Underground was populated by monsters, but they had assumed everyone would look like the Dreemur family. But this monster is something else entirely. It is tall as a human adult, two legged, but it has no head— or perhaps its entire body is a head. Its skin is a sickly green. It stares at them with a single, piercing eye. “I meant what I said, human. You should be dead.”

Chara gulps. They feel frozen, rooted to the spot. 

“Astigmatism!” snarls Toriel.

Ter is snarling too, all teeth and claws, a jaguar. They snap their jaws at the monster.

But Astigmatism does not move. Does not back down. Their single eye blinks at the jaguar cub— and then transforms, turning into a curving smile, one which holds only malice. Two new, slitted eyes stare at the human child and their daemon.

“Humans are a disgrace,” Astigmatism says, still smiling. “You and your kind started the war. You and your kind killed thousands of monsters. You and your kind trapped us here. And—“

“ _Out_.” 

Asgore’s voice is soft, but it commands silence. Astigmatism’s smile vanishes, their single staring eye returning.

“As your majesty wishes,” they say. They give a small ironic bow. Four sets of eyes watch it leave the house.

The second the door closes behind it, Ter leaps into Chara’s arms. Their chest is heaving, as if gasping for air. 

“Wh-what did they mean?” Chara stammers.

The King and Queen of Monsters— for that, surely, is who they are— exchange two heavy glances. They lead the human into the living room. And then, they tell Chara. About human souls, and monster souls. About the war. About the banishment. Chara listens.

And then, Chara runs.

They make a break for the mysterious stairs, the ones they’ve never gone through before. It leads to a dark hallway. The ground is uneven. They trip on the flagstones, scraping their hands, but they don’t stop. They keep running. Running, running. There’s door— a huge, mighty door. Chara tries to push it open. It’s heavy. Ter becomes a bull, puts all their weight behind it. They charge through. Black caves. The air is growing colder. They keep running. Another door. They go through.

And they stop. 

Their breath mists in front of them. There is snow and trees. The sky above is grey with clouds.

No. It is not the sky. It is not grey because of clouds. It is grey because it is rock. 

Chara sits down on the ground. They are freezing. The cold permeates through their striped sweater. Ter could turn into something warm and soft, but Chara refuses to even look at their daemon, let alone touch them. Daemons are the whole problem. 

They hunch in on themselves, and cry. The tears freeze on their face.

After some time, Toriel comes for them. She sits down besides them on the snow. Wraps a warm, furry arm around them, like a blanket.

“It is not your fault,” she says.

Chara doesn’t answer. She pulls them closer.

“No wonder monsters don’t want to see me,” Chara says, thinking of how they were forbidden from leaving the house. Their voice is raw. “They must hate me. They _should_ hate me.”

“They shouldn’t,” said Toriel. “You are not to blame what other humans did, so long ago.”

Chara sniffs, and says nothing. Their daemon creeps a little closer. 

“They’re gonna kill us,” says Ter.

“They will not.” Toriel’s soft voice is suddenly fierce. “Nobody will hurt a member of my family. I am the Queen of monsters, and I forbid it.”

Chara is silent once more, but it is a very different kind of silence. Stunned. ‘ _My family_ ’, she had said. She means them. 

Toriel waits a while, then pulls something from her cloak. Chara can’t help but look. It’s a chocolate bar. Their stomach stirs. Chocolate's their favourite.

“Here,” says Toriel. “I’ve been saving this, and I think you need a treat. You can eat while we walk back Home. You’ll catch your death out here.”

~

Frisk has been walking through the Ruins for some time now. They’re not sure how long. The puzzles blur together a bit, all spikes and blocks and holes hidden beneath flowers. The voice keeps telling them that they’re hurt: _HP 6/20._ Frisk doesn’t need them to say that. Physically, they may look uninjured, with nothing but the scratches and bruises they collected before and from the fall, but they feel hurt. Inside. They are tired. Their feet drag. There’s a pounding in their head, and their stomach groans for food. 

The phone rings. Frisk starts. It’s Toriel, of course. They wonder why she is calling. Has she discovered that they are gone? That they left, even though she said not to? Is she mad at them?

She isn’t angry. She has called to ask a question. “For no reason in particular, which do you prefer; cinnamon or butterscotch?”

Frisk hums into the phone. They don’t know. 

Their only strong memory of cinnamon is from last Valentines Day, when all the students were given out little candy hearts. Bright red, Frisk thinks, just like their SOUL. They had been expecting cherry sweetness, and had been shocked when they’d tasted something sharp and burning. They had ate it, of course— they couldn’t afford not to— but they hadn’t particularly enjoyed it.

They’re not even sure what butterscotch is though. It sounds sweet, though. 

Their daemon transforms into a squirrel, runs up their arm, and manages to croak a single word into the phone: “Butterscotch.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you very much!”

The phone clicks off, and Frisk moves forward through the strange floor puzzle. Less then ten seconds passes before the phone rings again. Frisk picks it up, and is once more greeted by Toriel.“You do not… _dislike_ cinnamon, do you? I know what your preference is, but would you turn up your nose if you found it on your plate?”

They’re not sure why Toriel is asking, but of course they wouldn’t. They’ll eat anything they’re given. Frisk makes a quiet, soothing noise into the receiver. Toriel seems to understand, because she says, “Right, right, I understand. Thank you for being patient, by the way. ”

The call cuts off. Frisk stares at the phone, feeling a little lost.

The voice is snickering. It says, _That’s Mom for you._

There’s a beat of silence.

_Wait?_ says the voice, just as Frisk thinks it. **_Mom_** _?_

Frisk’s daemon twitches their ears, swishes their long, bushy tail. The voice says nothing more. After a moment, Frisk continues on in their journey. 

They’re not focusing very much on the path or the puzzles, though. They’re preoccupied about the voice. They still don’t know what it is, or who. It might just be a voice in their head, something they’ve imagined. But whatever it is— why did it call Toriel ‘Mom’?

They’re just about to turn a corner, when their daemon makes a decision for them. Suddenly they’re a capuchin monkey, skittering down Frisk’s torso, plucking the phone from their pocket, and running off before Frisk can stop them. Tiny, quick fingers call Toriel’s number.

“Hello?” Frisk can hear Toriel’s voice, even this far away from the speaker.   


And then, their daemon says their second word of the day; “Mom?”

A brief silence. Frisk scrambles to take the phone back— reluctantly, the daemon lets them have it. Perhaps they think that Frisk will hang up, but they don’t. When Toriel speaks again, there’s a strange hitch in their voice. “Did… you just call me ‘Mom’?”

Frisk nods, though of course, she can’t see. 

“Would you… like that?” asks Toriel, and she’s misunderstood. “Would it make you happy to call me… ‘Mother’?”

The hope in her voice is so delicate, that Frisk couldn’t bring themselves to break it, even if they _could_ speak well enough to explain. 

“Well, then,” says Toriel. “Call me whatever you like.”

The voice clicks off, once more. Again, Frisk lowers the phone. 

That wasn’t why they had called. They’d had a question. They’d been hoping Toriel might have some explanation about the voice. But Frisk thinks… maybe they wouldn’t mind calling Toriel ‘Mom’. Not at all.

The voice is still silent. But Frisk thinks they can somehow still sense it there. Listening. Watching.

**Author's Note:**

> Was reading some daemon AU stuff, and I fell down the rabbit hole imagining this concept, so to speak.
> 
> Now, in this verse, monsters don't have daemons. That said, it's always a fun character study, so: what kind of daemons do you think the various monsters of UT would have?


End file.
